


Inefferella

by TawnyOwl95



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Aziraphale is the Fairy Godmother, Crowley is Cinderella, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Happy Ending, I really just went a little bit mad, M/M, Sort of fluff but there is almost a plot, almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: Crowley doesn’t really want to go to the Royal Ball. Well, he kind of does, but only to annoy his ugly step-siblings Hastur and Ligur.It has nothing to do with making his new tartan wearing fairy godmother smile (wiggle) so stop asking already.But in an AU where Gabriel is the handsome prince will true love conquer all?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel, Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 79
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. A lot of it makes no sense, but in my defence my son’s back molars are coming through and I had to do something at three am when he was asleep on my chest.

Crowley assessed the damage in the cracked shard of mirror balanced over the kitchen sink. Overall it looked worse than it felt. Still, he wouldn’t be going to the Royal Ball now. Not that he’d wanted to go in the first place. He’d just finished his chores on time, winning the bet, for the pleasure of sauntering into the atrium in his best suit and seeing the absolute horror on his step-family’s faces. Even step-mama’s flies had looked faint.

Crowley grinned, re-splitting his lip and flashing blood stained fangs in the mirror. Worth it. Just a shame that step-sibling Hastur was such a little bitch with his nails. He cautiously lifted what was left of his shirt and prodded the gashes on his side. They stung in protest. Right then, what Crowley needed now was alcohol. Extraordinary amounts of alcohol.

Step-mama did not appreciate good wine, and shortly before they’d become chatelaine of his father’s manor, Crowley had secreted some of the more valuable bottles under the sink. He pulled one out, wincing as he wrestled with the cork. Turned out one of his own nails was broken, hopefully the missing piece was lodged in Ligur’s neck.

Happy thought.

The cork gave with a satisfying pop. Crowley slouched in the nearest chair, swinging a foot up onto the scarred kitchen table. It hurt to breathe so he swigged the wine straight from the bottle. It would have been helpful to have some friendly mice about to get the first aid kit down for him, or at least a glass. Unfortunately mice in Crowley’s kitchen didn’t tend to last long. 

It would have been even more helpful if he could have healed himself, but step-mama wouldn’t approve of that and step-mama had bound his powers after his last escape attempt. Inconvenient, but compared to what they'd done to the Bentley he’d got off lightly. Best not think about the Bentley when he was already maudlin.

Crowley drunk more wine and watched the clock tick along.

The ball guests would be arriving by now. Glossy expensive cars stacked up all along the palace drive. Don’t think of the Bentley, and what step-mama had done to it after Crowley’s last escape attempt. Think instead of how amusing it would be to watch as angels and demons circled each other, trying to make nice while the humans flaunted their newly awakened Prince around.

Crowley drunk more wine.

The kitchen exploded in a blaze of brightness. Light seared the backs of Crowley’s retinas adding another, sharper melody to his pain. A whoosh of air nearly pulled his hair out. There may also have been some tinkling bells, but Crowley’s ears were roaring and his eyes aching so he didn’t really notice anything else until a shocked voice said, “Oh, my dear, are you alright?”

“Me?” Crowley managed to lift himself out of his slouch and get both feet back on the floor. “What about you? What the bloody Heaven just happened?”

An angel in a cream suit and a tartan bow tie sat in front of the fire place, legs splayed out and blond hair looking like it had suffered an electric shock. He dusted soot from his sleeve. “Yes, I do need to work on my landing somewhat.” He hauled himself up by a corner or the kitchen table, limping slightly as he came forward. Crowley squirmed uncomfortably under all that focused, bright-eyed concern.

The angel’s lip actually wobbled. “Was it your brothers?”

“Step-brothers. And I’m fine.” Crowley fisted his free hand so it wouldn’t drift up to the tender patches on his face.

The angel worried his bottom lip with his teeth and stepped forward another step. Crowley shot out of his chair brandishing the now empty bottle like a club.

“Ah.” The angel held up his palms. “Perhaps introductions, yes?”

“And explanations. This is a demon’s kitchen, angel. Note the moist walls, the lack of windows, the miasma of despair…” Crowley gestured wildly with his free hand, all the time keeping the wine bottle at the ready.

The angel didn’t quite meet Crowley’s eyes. “I am aware, thank you. I’m not stupid.” He took a deep breath. “I’m your fairy godmother, you see?”

The laughter leapt out of Crowley’s throat before he could stop it and he doubled over clutching his throbbing ribs.

The angel’s mouth pursed in disapproval. “You are Antony J. Crowley?”

“For what that’s worth! But you’re lot don’t assign Fairy Godmother’s to demons.”

The angel’s hands fussed at his waistcoat while his eyes roamed around the room. “Yes, well, things need a bit of a shakeup, what with the High Queen arranging this ball to promote reconciliation between all her creations we thought…” He blushed. “That is I thought… well I was in the area anyway, with some spare magic still on my slate and turning it in again would require so much paperwork. And I’ve been monitoring your situation, did a whole presentation on you the first time Michael mentioned we might be embracing diversification, but there’s so much process to go through and I rather felt you needed some help _now_.”

“So you aren’t technically my fairy godmother then?” Crowley said. “What you are in fact saying is that you shouldn’t be here at all?” Oh, that was interesting. He’d not met many angels, but none of them seemed to have an original thought in their heads, let alone possess the imagination required for rule breaking. He tried not to be impressed and tried even harder not to let that creep on to his face.

“I’m trying to do a nice thing,” the angel said defensively.

“Don’t put yourself out on my account.” Crowley had never taken kindness well. Surliness was easier. Safer. If he thought about what this angel might be risking for him then he might feel grateful, and that was not a good look on a demon.

“At least let me heal you up, my dear. If it’s easier, think of me as just a guardian angel. With benefits.”

Demons didn’t have guardian angels either, but they did have an ear for a deal. “Benefits?” Crowley asked oh so casually.

“Yes. Extra sparkle. Dresses, shoes, and so forth. Transportation.”

 _Transportation_. The Bentley. It had been a long time since Crowley had allowed himself to want anything, and now desire fought its way free and clawed at his heart. He leaned a hip against the table and folded his arms. “I’m listening.”

The angel’s smile was like a sun beam. “Oh,” he laughed with relief. “Excellent. I’ll have you ready in a jiffy!”

“Waitwaitwait. I have been drinking solidly for two hours and am in rather a lot of pain so presuming that you are real and not a figment of my fevered imagination, do you have a name?”

“Aziraphale.”

“Ok, I couldn’t make that up. Go on then. Let’s sort this out.” And then they could get to the transportation.

Aziraphale clapped his hands, then pushed back his sleeves as though about to produce a dove. He closed an eye speculatively and gave Crowley a once over that made him blush to the roots of his hair. “Right then, stand up please. Just there. Don’t move.”

Another flash of light and whooshing in his ears. Crowley opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that it no longer hurt to breath. The second thing he noticed was pink tights.

“No!” Crowley waved his hands in horror. “No, no. no! Lace cuffs? Really?”

“I think you look dashing.” Aziraphale said.

“I look like a macaroon!”

Aziraphale sniffed. “Fine. Well then…” He lifted his hands. Crowley barely had time to grab the table before the light hit again. 

“No.” he said again when it had faded. “Absolutely not.”

“Tartan is stylish.”

“Not in this century.”

They glared at each other over the kitchen table. Aziraphale was actually pouting. He looked ready to stamp his foot. Crowley tried not to find it adorable.

“Do you have one single better idea?” Aziraphale snapped.

“I liked what I had on before,” Crowley snarled. “You know, before before. Before it got trashed.”

Aziraphale and his pout held their ground. “That made you look more evil fairy than romantically available hero.”

“Demon, remember? And I like evil fairies, big evil fairy fan me. Wait, what do you mean by ‘romantically available hero’?”

The pout vanished. “We are on a tight schedule,” Aziraphale said. “Please try and focus.”

This time when the light cleared Crowley’s clothes were as tight and as black and as whole as when he’d pulled them from the wardrobe that morning. He peered back in the shard of mirror trying to assess his appearance.

“Oh, good Lord. Stop preening.” A full length mirror popped into being in front of the wash tub. “You like it?”

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale smiled that sun beam smile again. It did funny things to the space behind Crowley’s ribs.

“It does have a certain dramatic effect.” Aziraphale’s conceded, his eyes looking everywhere but at Crowley. “One more thing. It is a masked ball.”

“Don’t worry about it angel.” Crowley went to a drawer and pulled out a pair of sun glasses. He put them on and grinned.

“Hardly a disguise.”

“People will see what they expect, and they won’t expect to see me. Now then transportation.” Crowley strode out of the kitchen and towards the vegetable garden. Aziraphale hurried along behind him.

The Manor was a damp, half collapsed ramshackle old thing, but the gardens were something Crowley really took pride in. Even with the stormy over cast weather that persisted in the Kingdom of Hell Crowley’s gardens could easily be described as lush. They wouldn’t have dared let anyone describe them as anything else.

“Oh, pumpkins, perfect.” The angel breathed as they rounded a dry stone wall and came to the vegetable patch. “They’re beautiful. They’d be a pleasure to work with.”

“Shhh,” Crowley hissed. “Don’t praise them. They’ll start slacking off.”

“My dear, they’re vegetables.”

“And they are not what we are here for.” Crowley pointed beyond the mountains of squashes to a half-submerged patch of wilderness where ivy and blackberry bushes were slowly consuming the shell of the Bentley. Even with her blistered paint and broken axles she still looked as beautiful as the day he’d bought her home. Didn’t matter that Hastur and Ligur had dragged him from the driver’s seat before setting the whole thing ablaze, not if he’d get to drive her again. There was not a lump in his throat. Absolutely not.

“Go on then, do the tickety-boo thing. Get her up and running.”

“Bibbity-bobbity-boo and…” Aziraphale wet his lips.

“You can’t do it?” Crowley sagged. Disappointment was also not a good look on a demon, and if anyone had challenged Crowley he would have said he was faking it for the purposes of manipulation.

“The amount of magic it would take is vast. And the magic does only last until midnight.”

The weight of Aziraphale’s hand on his shoulder made Crowley tense. “Why?”

The angel’s mouth opened. Then he shut it, opened it again and said primly. “I’m not responsible for policy decisions and it states very clearly in the manual…”

“It probably also states in the manual that you’re not supposed to be godmothering for demons.”

“Not explicitly, but there is a general understanding. And like I said we _are_ looking to diversify _eventually_.”

“It’s fine angel.” Crowley let himself sag further, scuffed at the earth with his toe for good measure. “I didn’t want to go to the ball anyway.” He sighed dramatically. “Chores to do. Coffee to get ready for when the family return. Will have enough of a time explaining where my black eyes have gone…”

“No,” Aziraphale said, conviction rising in his voice. “No, my dear. You shall go to the ball. Just maybe stand back. Bit more. That’s it, just there.”

The angel pushed up his sleeves again, bouncing on the toes of his feet while he stared at the Bentley as though it were a particularly difficult cross word clue. This time the light was capable of searing Crowley’s eyebrows off. The roaring made his molars ache. When it faded Crowley swayed on his feet, but his eyes went straight to the Bentley. She was free from the foliage and not a mark on her. Crowley had no control of the mad grin on his face. “You wonderful angel. She’s perfect.”

Aziraphale laughed weakly. He was moping his face with a tartan handkerchief. “It’s all in the wrist you know.” He sat down heavily on the grass. “Is the ground spinning?”

“You ok?” Crowley ran forward.

“Yes, yes, it’ll pass.”

“You don’t need a drink of water?” It wasn’t guilt in his voice. Not at all.

“Actually, my dear, could you fetch me a goose?”

Crowley peered at the angel over the top of his sunglasses. “A goose?”

“To turn into your chauffeur.”

“No one’s driving this car but me. And you’re knackered. Let me get you back inside and I’ll find some scotch or something. You like scotch?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. Highly unprofessional.”

Crowley helped him up and then submitted meekly while Aziraphale adjusted Crowley’s collar to his satisfaction and brushed magic dust from his shoulders.

“You look perfect my dear. Prince Gabriel won’t be able to resist.”

“You what?” Crowley could quite help the high pitch of his voice.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “Nothing. Never mind. But he is the handsome prince, and he is single so, you know, if the mood…”

“Stop right there. You really are light headed.”

“I’m fine. Absolutely peachy. You go on and have fun.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “If you’re sure.”

Aziraphale nodded emphatically. Regret squirmed in Crowley’s stomach. The idea of sitting in the kitchen with this odd, surprising angel and finishing off his father’s wine seemed like a better evening’s entertainment than a ball. Then his eyes slid back to the Bentley. He could just take her for a quick spin to see how she handled on the country lanes.

Aziraphale was guiding him towards the car. “When you get there remember to pause at the top of the stairs and smile.”

“Do I look like I smile?” Crowley said. 

“Well, pause and smirk then. At least pause.”

“Fine. Gottcha, Ciao, Angel.” 

The Bentley’s engine purred into life as soon as Crowley turned the key. He breathed in the smell of leather and polish. He bumped the car gently over the vegetable patch and drove out to the road. He couldn’t help glancing back and seeing a cream-clad figure waving a tartan handkerchief as he sped away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes to the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely paranoid about spelling Aziraphale right. I never realised 'a's could be so tricky. please let me know if you spot one that has got away from me. When I've finished dying of embarrassment I'll fix it.

Prince Gabriel was having a bad day. It was the latest bad day in a series of bad days and it was really starting to take a toll on his positive mental attitude. Still the Heavenly Palace looked nice. Clean, crisp and nowhere to hide, even if it was currently full of demons and humans. He couldn’t decide which was worse, but chose to narrow his eyes at the recently awakened Prince Adam being hand fed vol-au-vents by Princess Eve, the one responsible for waking him up from his extended nap.

Well, partly.

The real party responsible was whatever interfering idiot of a fairy godmother had amended the original curse by coming up with the true-love’s-first-kiss baloney in the first place. 

“He looks good,” Sandalphon smarmed from just behind Gabriel’s shoulder. “Maybe a hundred year nap would suit us all.”

“Our bad luck it wasn’t longer.” It had been useful having the ruler of the neighbouring human kingdom and his entire government asleep. It had given the angels access to natural resources without worrying about any troublesome things like treaties. Now Adam was awake Gabriel had found himself in the middle of a diplomatic incident and apparently had to apologise for using his initiative. Apologise and take a demon consort. The High Queen had given him a talk about love and forgiveness and working together for the betterment of all their neighbours, including the demonic ones they had already subjugated in the Great War.

How was that good company policy?

Still, he’d never been one to let the side down. Happy to take one for the team.

“How about that one.” Gabriel pointed at a cloud of flies buzzing around the most outrageous hat.

“They’re a widow.” Sandalphon said. “Two children and I believe they have opinions. Perhaps your majesty should consider someone a tad younger.”

“Someone more willing to be told what their opinions are, you mean?”

“Exactly, your majesty.”

“Right, right.” Gabriel focused on the escalators where the latest batch of guests were arriving. Boring. Boring. Also boring. Wait.

“Who’s that one?”

He was skinny and red haired. He was trying to strike a pose as he surveyed the room over his sunglasses, but his long limbs were really too awkward to pull it off. Gabriel could feel the demon’s nerves from all the way across the room.

Sandalphon swiped through his glass tablet. “They aren’t on the data base.”

“So youngish. No family. Potentially vulnerable?”

“He does look uncomfortable.”

“And accents of red in his suit.” Gabriel’s smile was wolfish. “Let’s get this done then. Don’t wait up.”

With a ‘hey, how you doing?’ to a passing cherub, Prince Gabriel stepped down from the dais and went on the prowl.

Crowley had nearly just driven for the border with the human kingdom. He could get there easily by midnight, but the thought of leaving the burned out shell of the Bentley in a ditch made him queasy. Besides when he’d checked the glove box he’d found the angel had fixed not only his spare sunglasses, but the Best of Queen Album he’d had there as well. 

That didn’t mean he owed the angel anything, but the Palace _was_ on the way to the border and he’d sort of known Eve before she woke up Prince Adam. They’d met in line at a café (humans always had the best coffee). She’d been munching an apple, sad about being a commoner in love with a prince. Crowley had given her his opinion on obeying social rules and not being afraid to ask for what you want. It’d had only been a few days ago when reading Ligur’s discarded copy of _The Infernal Times_ that he’d realised how much she’d taken his advice to heart.

He’d also give her his opinion on the sense of falling in love with someone who was asleep and unable to relate back to you in any meaningful way, but apparently she’d ignored that bit.

Crowley tucked himself by a pillar, the only shelter in the blessed warehouse space of the palace ballroom, and watched Eve and Adam laugh. He was trying not to worry about whether or not his fairy godmother had regained enough energy to whoosh himself home when hot breath tickled his ear.

“Well, hello gorgeous.”

Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin. Not an unrealistic possibility considering his snaky tendencies. 

The angel in the perfectly tailored suit and lavender tie obviously mistook his shocked silence for being intimidated because he continued with, “Yes, I’m talking to you. It’s your lucky day, sweetheart.”

There was something depressingly familiar about the insincere smile currently trying to make Crowley’s heart melt.

“Prince Gabriel, am I right?” Crowley asked.

“So you’ve heard of me.” Gabriel edged closer.

Handsome enough, but in a very corporate, bland way. Crowley would probably have appreciated it more if his head wasn’t full of tartan bow ties and sun beam smiles.

“Yeah, seen you around on a couple of stamps. Some of the less valuable currency.” Crowley tried to back away. His spine hit the pillar.

Gabriel’s laugh was hearty, indulgent and thoroughly fake. Prince Charming, indeed. Right up until the object of his affection said no, of course. Crowley smiled weakly waiting for the inevitable ‘liking a girl with spirit’ line.

Gabriel did not disappoint, using it to fling a casual arm around Crowley’s shoulder.

Attention prickled Crowley’s skin, jealousy leaked off the crowd in poisonous green waves. Hastur and Ligur were fighting for the best view and his step mother’s habitual scowl had grown six shades darker.

Part of Crowley thought it would be fun to see how much darker he could get it by dancing with Gabriel, the only problem with that plan was that he would have to dance with Gabriel. Plus Crowley was sure he’d just caught sight of blond curls bobbing around by the smoked mackerel pate. He sidled up close to the Prince, taking careful hold of his wrist so he could move the offending arm. “Look, Gabe, mind if I call you Gabe? I’m flattered, really, but I’m also on the clock here.” Crowley checked his watch. “If you’re looking for fun I’d suggest those two lovelies over there.” He waved his free hand at his step-siblings. “Gagging for it. Catch you later, yeah?”

Crowley ducked beneath Gabriel’s arm and left, quickly before Gabriel’s face faded back to pink and he stopped spluttering. By the time Crowley got to the smoked mackerel all blond curls had vanished. Bless it. Crowley checked his watch again. He could spare five more minutes.

The pate was absolutely scrumptious and it really was lovely to see Adam and Eve looking so happy. So in love. Aziraphale sighed. He’d been slightly concerned about the dubious consent of the wake up kiss and was fervently hoping that the joy he felt rolling off the couple meant that he hadn’t done anything too wrong in this instance.

By his standards anyway.

If Michael found out he’d been overstepping his remit again she may have had something to say on the subject, but so far no one really seemed that interested in what he did. Or said. Or felt.

After the war Aziraphale had applied to become a fairy godmother because he’d wanted to make people happy, but the more he tried the more he found himself tangled in red tape. And the less happy he became.

Still, the pate really was scrumptious.

Aziraphale bit down on another sigh and pulled out his pocket watch. Time to go and get his report ready for tomorrow. Not too much of a rush as Michael was probably hobnobbing about here somewhere and not likely to be back in her office until day break.

He was just about to vanish when he caught sight of the reflection in the glass window behind the buffet table. He spun round with a squeak,

“Do I know you?” the squat angel exposed his gold teeth in damp smile.

Aziraphale furiously searched his memory of Prince Gabriel’s court and came up with Sandalphon, Prince Gabriel’s aid.

His other senses were screaming something far more urgent. The curse on Adam had been very hard to manipulate. It had tasted of snow on mountains and sounded like music.

The exact same energy he was getting from the angel in front of him.

Oh dear.

“Oh, no, I don’t think you know me.” Aziraphale gabbled. “I was just leaving.”

Sandalphon’s hand on his forearm was gentle, but left no room for argument.

“You see, I drafted the guest list,” Sandalphon said, “so I probably should know you.”

“Here on official business. If you’d permit me?”

Sandalphon nodded as Aziraphale gestured towards an inner pocket on his jacket. He pulled out his business card. It was cream and the calligraphy had taken him ages.

Sandalphon looked it over. Despite Aziraphale’s pride in his penmanship Sandalphon’s scrutiny made him feel very silly.

“So you came with Michael’s entourage then?” Sandalphon asked.

“Well, not exactly. I’m here on business, as I said. Just checking up on a past assignment before I turn in my report. Which, oh, goodness, is due in exactly thirty minutes. Must dash.”

The hand on his arm tightened.

“And the past assignment would be?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to Adam. He hoped Sandalphon hadn’t noticed. The hope lasted as long as it took Sandalphon to say. “You know Prince Adam’s story of course?”

“Terribly romantic,” Aziraphale squeeked.

“Prince Gabriel thinks so. Perhaps you’d like to tell him all about it?”

“Urm…”

“Aziraphale!” His free hand was grabbed by long, bony fingers. Azirapahle looked up and saw the reflection of his terrified face melt into relief in the sunglasses peering down at him. “Crowley!”

“Thanks for finding him for me, Sandy. Trying to practise co-operation and all that, want to dance, angel?”

“I’m not actually…”

“Very good? Me neither. We should complement each other perfectly.”

Crowley dragged Aziraphale away. Aziraphale resisted long enough to pluck his business card back from Sandalphon’s fingers, then he gratefully followed Crowley back into the crowd.

They didn’t dance. Crowley had told himself that he wasn’t disappointed about that because it would only have drawn more attention to them. As it was Aziraphale had taken an awful lot of convincing just to slip out of the ball room where no one could see them.

The angel seemed even jitterier than he had earlier and although Crowley’s brain was currently supplying a number of ideas for helping him to calm down, alcohol did seem the most appropriate on such a short acquaintance. 

They sat outside the windows of the ball room on a ledge that overlooked the human kingdom which was currently lit up with stars.

“Nearly drove there this evening. To the humans.” Crowley popped his champagne cork out into space.

“Oh, my dear, what about Prince Gabriel?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley laughed champagne down his chin. “Have you met that wanker?”

“But he needs a demon consort and…”

Crowley couldn’t hide his smile.

Aziraphale’s blush came on all at once deepening the pink of his cheeks and turning his ears red. “I thought it would serve your step-family right, and I do know he’s a bit much but the love of the right person could soften him up a bit. It would do so much good for the three kingdoms.”

“Were you trying to set me up? Wait, were you trying to set me up as part of some evil plot?”

“No, of course not. I am an angel..”

“Angelic plot, then.”

“And part of the Fairy Godmother Corps. We do not do evil plots and we most definitely should not meddle in politics.”

There was a slight tremor in his voice, and Crowley who was proficient in Hellish contracts, most notably the one binding his powers to step-mama noted the ‘should’ in that sentence.

“Except for all those human goose girls and chamber maids marrying into the aristocracy, you mean?” Crowley prodded.

“We just level the playing field a bit. Make them more aware of opportunities for self-improvement.”

“That’s insane. Messing about with humans like that.”

“I do not mess about. I facilitate happy endings. I don’t make people fall in love or try to kill them by cursing them when they’re still a child!” Aziraphale coughed. “Honestly, Crowley, I didn’t _make_ you fall in love with Gabriel, did I?”

There was a thing there, Crowley could taste it on his forked tongue. It had something to do with that other angel who’d had Aziraphale cornered. He wanted to know, but the far more urgent desire was not to scare _this_ angel away. He looked like a deer ready to bolt. A soft, blond, cuddly deer. “To be fair, not all the magic in the three kingdoms could make me fall in love with Gabriel,” Crowley said.

“He was that bad?” Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped a fraction.

“He said he liked a girl with spirit.”

Aziraphale’s face screwed up in a moue of disgust.

“Exactly. More fun out here with you anyway.”

This time the angel’s ears blushed scarlet. “That’s very…”

“Don’t”

“…demonic of you to say so,” Aziraphale said without a pause.

“It’s only that your less handsy. Don’t go getting any ideas.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

They passed the bottle backwards and forwards a bit more and Crowley noticed that it didn’t matter how many times his fingers brushed Azirpahale’s the contact still sent a tingle down his arm to the hollow space behind his ribs. As a side note the bottle also didn’t seem to get any emptier.

Crowley leaned back on his elbows, slewing his eyes sideways so he could inspect Aziraphale’s profile. He was a puzzle, and one Crowley was more than happy to spend the rest of the night trying to unpick. Then the palace clock started to strike midnight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel starts searching for the owner of a lost snake skin boot. Aziraphale gets himself in a bit of a pickle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every one bookmarking and leaving kudos.

“You are my car. I’ve had you since new. You are not going to burn.” Crowley white knuckled the steering wheel as the Bentley skidded around a corner, the clock tower on the Heavenly Palace donging midnight in his wake. “Again.”

He sped over the jagged iron bridge that connected the Kingdoms of Heaven and Hell, pressing the accelerator to the floor as the sounds of bells faded. The car didn’t burn. Crowley kept driving. The car still didn’t burn. He slowed down and his tongue flicked out, searching for the tiniest bit of heat. “Hah!” He parked the car off the road at the side of the manor’s gate and set about covering it with branches. It still didn’t burn. Crowley pressed his palm to the metal of the hood, but it was only as hot as he’d have expected after doing ninety miles an hour down country roads.

He checked his watch. 00.45.

Well, that was a thing.

Crowley stepped back, making sure the Bentley was completely shielded from view and walked up to the house, limping slightly on the gravelled driveway. He’d lost a shoe somewhere in their rush to get out of the palace grounds. Probably when he’d fallen in the ornamental pond. The rest of his clothes were of course in much the same state they had been before Aziraphale’s arrival, as was his body. He inspected the damage again in the shard of mirror over the sink. It still looked bad, but felt much better. Whether that was magic or the alcohol he’d have to wait until the morning to discover. Crowley stripped off the tattered clothing and pulled on his pyjamas. He then curled up in the soot of the still warm fire place to get what sleep he could before breakfast.

Crowley’s alarm clock was a swift and accurate kick to the ribs. He jerked awake, instinctively curling in on himself.

“Do you know anything about this?” Step-mama thrust the front page of _The Infernal Times_ into Crowley’s face. He blinked as the blurred headlines formed in to some sort of recognisable pattern.

 _Prince Gabriel’s mystery date!_ It screamed at his sensitive head in bold type. Underneath slightly desperate italics encouraged him to look at page three.

“Snake skin boots,” Step-mama said. “Hardly subtle of you.”

Crowley’s hands shook as he tried to reach page three.

“Oh for Satan’s sake. You’re pathetic.” Step-mama snatched the paper back and then pushed page three right up to his nose.

“S’not mine.” Crowley lied automatically. It was his. Slightly waterlogged and consequently swollen out of shape, but still very much his boot in the picture. “Don’t have monopoly on snake skin, you know?”

Step-mama didn’t believe him. They made this clear with another dainty kick of their army boots. “Keep reading.”

Crowley peeled his dry tongue from the roof of his equally dry mouth and tried to read. “That’s ridiculous! That’s no way to find a consort. There’s more than one size ten in the Kingdom.”

Step-mama rolled their eyes. “You’re telling me. But the handsome ones never do have more than one brain cell to rub together. I’m still locking you in the attic until this shamefully grand romantic gesture is over and done with.”

“Then you’ll have to make your own breakfast.”

“Fine. Make breakfast first. I want extra bacon. It’s not like an angel with a hangover is going to get up before noon anyway. They really can’t hold their liqueur. Well?” They drew back their foot.

“I’m not an angel and I’m up. This is me getting up.”

Step-mama took a step back. “How did you get to the ball, Crowley?”

“Wasn’t me. Mystery date. Says so right there.”

“I will find out. And I’ll find the Bentley too. I’m not stupid, Crowley.”

“No, step-mother, I never thought you were.” He focused on the frying pan until the stomp of their feet upstairs signalled that he was alone. Crowley groaned and massaged his aching temple then his aching ribs. _The Infernal Times_ was still on the table, and while the oil was heating he scanned page three in all its insane glory.

Prince Gabriel was going to put the boot on display. He was going to ask every eligible demon in the Kingdom to try it on. It was insane, and Crowley wanted nothing more than to find his not technically fairy godmother fast. He set to cooking breakfast and as soon as it was on the table ran out to go shopping.

During their drunken night star gazing Crowley had learned a number of things about Aziraphale. One of these was that he liked pastries. Another was that, whether from a deep rooted belief in his own failings or a desire to witness happy endings first hand, he tended to re-visit the scene of his assignments to ensure that everything had gone swimmingly.

His words, not Crowley’s.

Crowley, shopping basket on his arm, went straight to the town square where, as promised his water-logged boot was on display in a glass case with lots of eligible demons, who Crowley thought really should know better, bobbing around it and speculating. There were several cafes pedalling sub-par coffee nearby and Crowley found Aziraphale on the third try. The angel started as Crowley slid into the seat opposite him.

“Was this you?” Crowley waved the offending page of _The Infernal Times_ in his face. “Did you do this? I told you I thought Gabriel was a wanker?”

“Shhh.” Aziraphale flapped his hands.

“What?” Crowley inspected the angel’s plate. “Lemon drizzle cake has ears now?”

“This wasn’t me. This was all the Royal Press Office’s idea. Although you must admit the high romance of it is breath taking. Perhaps Gabriel really does care for you?”

“But I do not care for him. Why are you pushing this?” He thought they’d had fun last night. He thought there’d been something worth pursuing. What with _diversification_ and _reconciliation_ being pedalled by the High Queen he thought that he’d be able to pursue it.

Aziraphale dropped his gaze and worried his bottom lip. “My dear, it’s a tried and tested formula. I can’t stand in the way of a story when it gets up and running no matter what I might wish. Fairy godmothers don’t get happily ever afters you see? We do the job and move on.”

“And you think marriage to Prince Grim-pick-up-lines is a Happy Ever After do you?”

“It could be. If you did accept Gabriel it could benefit so many people.”

Crowley sat back in his chair inspecting the angel’s weak smile for any hint that this was joke. He gave it his best shot, but there was nothing but watery regret on the angel’s face.

“It would not benefit me,” Crowley snarled. “Never me.”

“Sometimes the beast needs to be shown kindness in order to change.”

“Only if he wants to change. I thought you were so clever. How can someone as clever as you be so stupid? The only person Gabriel loves is himself.”

“Shh. You should go home right now so that you’re there when it’s time to try on the shoe.”

“I’ve got shopping to do first.” Crowley scraped his chair against the floor. “Don’t hold out for a happy ending this time, angel.”

Prince Gabriel was finally having a nice day. It had taken a number of phone calls and a lot of shouting his name and security clearance code but eventually he’d spoken to Michael who had checked her records and told him an interesting story about an AWOL fairy godmother, and the last place their system showed his magic taking place.

Gabriel had Sandalphon forward the relevant data on the ball’s gate crasher to Michael. He’d practically heard her blood vessels pop down the phone line when she’d seen it.

Now Gabriel stood in the parlour of Snake Manor waiting for the lady of the house. They stomped in glowering and buzzing with irritation. “To what do I owe this displeasure?” they gave him a derogatory once over. “Your Majesty?”

“Your step-son, Lord Beelzebub.” He was not intimidated by this diminutive demon, not at all.

“That snaky little shit. What’s he done now?” Beelzebub folded their arms and glared. It was a glare that had terrified the truth from some of the hardest, cruelest demons in the seven circles of the Kingdom of Hell. Gabriel didn’t stand a chance.

“He said ‘no’ to me. No one says ‘no’ to me!” he snapped.

Beelzebub arched an eyebrow.

“I’m the Arch..Prince fucking Gabriel,” Gabriel spluttered.

Beelzebub took their time considering this. They also considered Gabriel with a scrutiny that made his stomach flip.

“I suppose I can respect that position,” Beelzebub conceded. “Marry him if you want. Truth is I’ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of him. Although I had hoped the solution would prove more permanent.”

Gabriel wet his lips and edged closer. “It would be tragic if something untoward happened to him on our honey moon.”

“Such as?” Beelzebub tilted their head.

“He drowned in the Jacuzzi?”

The smile that parted the demon’s mouth was terrible and beautiful. “Fell off the balcony?” They suggested.

“Got ripped apart by wild dogs,” Gabriel said in an excited rush.

Beelzebub lifted both eyebrows.

“Sorry, too much?” _They think it’s too much. I’ve blown it._

“No, I don’t think so.”

Gabriel started to breathe again and dared, “It would leave me free to marry someone more appropriate to my station.”

Beelzebub nodded slowly. “Come back within the hour. I’ll have Crowley for you then.”

“And you will have my gratitude.” A kiss on the knuckles may have been appropriate, but Gabriel didn’t quite have the courage. As it was he had to lean on the door frame and loosen his tie as soon as he’d left the room. Sandalphon probably wouldn’t like this arrangement but Sandalphon wasn’t the Prince fucking Gabriel, so there. 

Aziraphale pushed his plate away. Cake in a demon run café was always less moist than it was soggy, and he’d lost his appetite anyway. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. He needed to get back to his office and hand in his report. He should stop thinking about Crowley…

Writhing at the back of his mind was the knowledge that what he should also do something about was Sandalphon being the one to curse Prince Adam.

Not should. He wanted to do something. There could be no good reason for Sandalphon cursing someone like that, but no matter how he rehearsed any conversation he had with Michael he could not feel his was to a sensible resolution. There was something fishy going on that went deeper than the smell of this café.

“Aziraphale!”

Michael slid into the empty seat across from him.

Aziraphale jumped so hard in his own chair he nearly fell out of it. Lucky Uriel, Michael’s second in command, was there to grab his shoulder and haul him back to a sitting position.

Aziraphale said, “Meep.”

Generally he was a big fan of words. However he preferred the simplicity of them pinned down on paper where there was time to sift through the nuance of meaning. Just letting the little buggers out into the air where they could get up to anything was, quite frankly, terrifying. He bit his lip, keeping the torrent of words currently clamouring for attention in his brain at bay.

“We expected you to turn your report in on the donkey skin girl yesterday, Aziraphale,” Michael said. “We were ever so excited to hear how you’d resolved the matter, but then I had quite a disturbing report from Sandalphon, Prince Gabriel’s aid.”

“Gate crashing the Royal Ball,” Uriel tutted.

“Well, urm,” Aziraphale said. He closed his eyes, stilled his hands. “I _can_ explain!”

Michael bestowed her tight, controlled smile on him and awaited an explanation.

“Right then,” Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat. “You remember back in March I did my presentation on the demon Crowley and his, ah, domestic situation with his step-mother?”

Uriel leaned over Aziraphale’s shoulder so that she could breathe in his ear. “Would this be the demon Crowley that we specifically told you not to visit until we had carried out the necessary checks and re-written the appropriate policy documents for engaging with those of the demonic persuasion?"

“”Yes, but he is a jolly nice chap. You know? For someone of the, er, demonic persuasion and Prince Gabriel had already issued a press release about taking a demon consort, and really, you should have seen the state his step-siblings had left him in when…”

Michael arched an eyebrow.

“Crowley’s step-siblings, obviously we know Prince Gabriel doesn’t…”

Uriel tightened her grip on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale stopped talking.

“Good decision,” said Uriel. “Your boyfriend in the dark glasses isn’t going to save you now.”

“He’s not…” _Oh. Uriel thinks he’s my boyfriend? Oh. Could he be my boyfriend? Do I want him to be?_

Michael was lining up some papers on the café table. “Your letter of resignation from the Godmother Corps, Aziraphale. Please sign here, here and here. Initial here, here, here and…” she flipped a page. “Here.”

_Does it matter what I want if this isn’t my story anyway? He’s going to marry Gabriel, isn’t he?_

“Aziraphale,” Michael snapped. “Focus.”

Aziraphale took the golden pen. He signed. He initialed. By the time he handed the pen back he felt lighter than he had in years. The first thing he was going to do was find Crowley.

“Resignation accepted.” Michael smiled.

The second thing he was going to do was find Crowley. “A pleasure working with you,” Aziraphale said. “Now that I am no more than a concerned citizen I really think that I should bring to your attention the matter of Prince Adam’s curse, and who exactly…”

“He’s all yours,” Michael said without looking up.

Uriel had removed her hand from Aziraphale’s shoulder. It was replaced with a heavier one, stubbier fingers. Aziraphale turned his head glancing up into a wet, golden toothed leer.

“Nice to see you again, Aziraphale,” Sandalphon said.

 _Oh. Fuck_ , Aziraphale thought. What actually came out of his mouth was, “Meep!”

“It’s a tried and tested formula,” Crowley muttered to the half blackened baguette peeping out of the top of his shopping basket. “I’ll try and test your formula.”

Then because that sounded more like an inappropriate euphemism out loud than it had in his head Crowley decided to stop talking. He dumped the basket down on the kitchen table and growled something that sounded like ‘nghk’.

Then Hastur hit him over the head with a crowbar.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily Ever After awaits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Crowley woke up and immediately regretted it. The throbbing pain in his skull was bad enough, but step-mama glaring at him from the far side of their desk was not a good sign. Prince Gabriel, sat nonchalantly on the desk’s corner with a mad grin on his face. “Morning sunshine,” he said.

Crowley spat blood from his mouth. Trust his step-siblings to go and get a few extra swings in while he was unconscious.

Still, not the end of the world. This set up looked suspiciously like step-mama had been Making Plans, and the thing that they always underestimated in those plans was Crowley. He just had to knuckle down and ride it out until an opportunity presented itself. Crowley was an optimist with an imagination, and he always spotted an opportunity when it trundled by.

“Good morning,” Crowley said. “This is…interesting.”

“You naughty boy,” step-mama dead panned. “You didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow in Gabriel’s direction. “That’s probably because I don’t remember being asked.”

“Can’t expect those of us who are busy and important to make the time for the niceties that plague us lesser beings,” step-mama said. If they had any emotion in their voice at all, it was probably sarcasm.

“So, when’s the happy event, Gabe?” Crowley asked purely to see the muscle in Gabriel’s jaw twitch.

“This afternoon. True love waits for no one.”

“You going to at least make a show of me trying on that bloody shoe?” Crowley asked. “I’m not exactly feeling swept off my feet here.”

Hastur made his presence known with a casual cuff to the back of Crowley’s head. “Don’t think I’m letting you be a bridesmaid, you bastard,” Crowley snarled.

“That’s hardly language becoming of an angelic consort,” step-mama said. “Really, Crowley, don’t embarrass us.”

“My language is more embarrassing than all the bruises? Or…” and there it was. A tiny, fluttering bird-like thing struggling for recognition in the corner of Crowley’s brain. “Or the fact that my powers are contracted to you step-mama? How is my betrothed going to feel if you have that much power over me still? If he can’t bring himself to trust you that puts him in quite a vulnerable position, wouldn’t you say?”

Step-mama shot to their feet, bracing their hands on the desk and leaning forward. "You flatter yourself that you’ll be alive long enough for that to be an issue.”

Gabriel was frowning though. “He’s contracted to you?”

“Of course he is. Couldn’t have him using miracles to get himself out of the coal cellar every time we shut him down there. You have to watch the little serpent or he gets that forked tongue of his into all sorts of trouble.”

“Still…it is most irregular if he is going to be marrying me. I had a hard enough time convincing Sandalphon as it was.”

Step-mama turned the full weight of their anger on Gabriel. He got off the desk and backed away.

“I thought you were the Prince fucking Gabriel?” They said.

“I am! Sometimes though the Prince fucking Gabriel has to do politics and public relations, and not piss off people who could make his life more difficult than it needs to be.”

“What would you suggest then, _your majesty_? We can’t set him free. He’ll be out of here before you can blink.”

Gabriel held up his palms. “I agree that having his powers contracted is convenient. Sign them over to me.”

Crowley had been watching the exchange closely. The fragile bird like thing was growing in strength.

“He’s up to something,” Hastur grumbled from just behind Crowley’s left ear.

“He’s always bloody up to something.” Ligur weighed in from the right. “Let me just chuck him down the oubliette. I put some fresh glass shards down there last week.”

“He’s tied to a chair and bleeding.” Step-mama clicked their fingers and Crowley’s contract appeared with a pop of red sparks and a waft of sulphur. The parchment was thick and curled. The edges were freshly crisped with Hell Fire and the whole thing was weighted down by wax seals and ribbons. Step-mama spread it out on the desk and the negotiations began. Crowley wiggled to a more comfortable position in his chair and waited. The sun moved across the room. Hastur untied Crowley from the chair, and with the crow bar resting on his shoulder, followed Crowley in to the kitchen to guard him while he made coffee.

When he’d placed the tray on the desk, Crowley sat meekly back in his chair with his hands in his lap and bowed his head. Confident in his crow bar, Hastur didn’t bother to tie him back up again.

Gabriel and step-mama were shouting at each other over sub-section 3 clause 2a now. They seemed to be enjoying it a rather great deal. Crowley pretended to fall asleep.

Finally an agreement was reached. Flushed and breathless, Gabriel and step-mama inspected the new contract that was laid out between them, the wax cooling. Gabriel picked up the quill and dipped it in the ink well.

Crowley held his breath.

Gabriel smiled. “After you.” With a flourish he handed the quill to step-mama.

Thank Satan for angels being so predictably polite. And thank step-mama for being so flustered. They took the quill and signed first. They signed Crowley’s powers away, and his hands were free. Crowley bit down on a smile as the ability to do miracles returned. Hastur, to his credit, felt the preternatural whoosh of air at the same time as Crowley did. He lunged forward, crowbar raised. Crowley was already out of his chair. He jumped back and stopped time.

“Ha!” Crowley shouted in Hastur’s frozen face. “Too slow, loser.”

He leaned over the desk, wiggled the quill from step-mama’s unresisting hand and dragged the contract towards him. A few amendments later and Crowley signed his own name where Gabriel’s would have gone and stood back. The contract vanished with a sizzle. Crowley flexed his fingers. He was back.

Crowley snagged a biscuit from the coffee tray, and then because it was far more dramatic than just using the door, threw his legs over the windowsill and shimmied down the drain pipe. He landed on his ankle a bit funny, but it didn’t matter because there was just a short limp to the Bentley to go and then he’d be free.

He didn’t start time again until he was back across the iron bridge and speeding towards the Heavenly Palace.

Aziraphale sat on his stool in the dungeons and rattled the chains on his wrists one more time, more for something to do then because he had any real hope that the binding on them would suddenly start letting him do miracles again. 

It was all terribly embarrassing. And embarrassingly terrifying.

Prince Gabriel had really not liked him, and had ordered Sandalphon to show his displeasure in a number of ways that was making it increasingly difficult to sit still for too long. Still, bruises would heal. He was more concerned about what Gabriel had said about Crowley. More specifically what was probably going to happen to Crowley now that Gabriel was indeed going to marry him?

Aziraphale rattled his chains again, this time with more urgency. “You B…bad angels.”

“Can angels be bad? I guess so because they locked you up in here and tried to make me marry Gabriel. Oh, wait, you were trying to do that too.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale spun round, harder than you imagine when you’re wrists are chained to the floor. .

Crowely was peering down at him through the barred window at the top of his cell. Beyond his head the bluebirds of freedom were currently chirping.

“Don’t worry, I forgive,” Crowley said. “Have you out of here in a second.”

Crowley wrapped a length of chain around the bars and vanished. Tyres squealed and the bars started to bend, then gave up the fight and popped out of their setting with a spray of mortar.

A rope dropped down to the cell floor and Crowley slithered down.

Aziraphale’s heart was already giving itself over to palpitations and when Crowley took hold of his wrists it nearly exploded. Aziraphale tried very hard to focus on the fact that they were still in a cold, damp dungeon and not on the warmth of Crowley’s long fingers brushing his.

“You can’t miracle the chains open,” Aziraphale said.

“Don’t need to. Being contracted to step-mama for so long meant that I had to get creative.” Crowley plucked a hair pin from the bun twisted on the back of his head, then crouched down to pick the lock.

“Oh dear Lord,” Aziraphale whispered at the picture of Crowley perched between his thighs.

“What was that?”

“Nothing at all. Do hurry up dear boy before, er, Gabriel comes back.”

“Sure thing, angel. He was going to take over my contract from step-mama, you know?”

“And destroyed it so you’d be free of her?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not quite, no. He was going to take over ownership, then ensure I had an accident after we were married. Turns out it was step-mama he actually wanted to marry. Don’t look so sad. You can’t get match making right every time.”

“That’s not why I’m sad. I’m sad because you deserve so much better.”

“Well, I’m working on that. Right. Here we go.”

The shackles pinged open. Crowley looked up with a half-smile on his face, eyes peering over the top of his glasses to meet Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale’s heart did another very queer stuttering dance.

“You never thought of maybe just giving me the opportunity to write the end to my own story?” Crowley asked.

“How _would_ you end it then? If you could?”

Crowley leaned forward and kissed him. Aziraphale’s heart stopped completely. He wondered, briefly, if this was what Adam felt when Eve had woken him up. Crowley pulled away and Aziraphale blinked at him while he got his thoughts back into order.

“Yes,” Aziraphale managed, “I think I’ve got a handle on the narrative you’re making, but I’m feeling a bit light headed. Could you try and explain it just once more?”

Being a fairy godmother meant you spend a long time worrying about other people’s happiness and not thinking very much about your own. Of course, now he wasn’t a Fairy Godmother anymore he could be just a tad more selfish in that regard.

Crowley’s lips slid against Aziraphale’s again and it was a perfect fit.

“Right then,” Aziraphale said. “I hear the ruined tower where Princess Eve woke up Prince Adam is a charming place for a picnic. A picnic then we’ll both apply to the humans for asylum from our respective sides, yes? Given the state of the window bars I gather the Bentley is still in tip top condition?”

“Waitwaitwait. You fixed the Bentley permanently. That was your magic and not the godmothering?”

“Well of course. I could see how much she meant to you. And it is rather handy having a get away car now, don’t you think? Time being of the essence?”

“Angel…”

Crowley threw his arm around Aziraphale’s neck. When Aziraphale opened his eyes this time they’re out of the cell and on the grass, the Bentley’s engine purring away. Crowley hustled him into the car. “I don’t think asylum will be a problem, Eve owes me a favour. Gave her some advice once, about helping herself. Fighting for her own happy ending.”

“Alright, you’ve made you’re point.” Aziraphale turned as Crowley slid into the driver’s seat. “And I rather think she owes me a favour too.”

“Really?”

“It’s quite a long story.”

Crowley pushed the car into gear. “Angel, we’ve got all the time in the world,” he said and drove the Bentley into the sunset.


End file.
